My little soldiers in Afghanistan
by Lock Lokidottir
Summary: John Watson is out on the front lines. The enemy seperates life from death. When they ruthlessly invade without warning, one fires the fatal bullet that tears through the doctor. He is treading the thin line between life and death- will he live? Review


_This is my first time writing in 1st person- I hope you like it! _

_Please please please please rate and review. If you do, I'll respond in kind. Anything is useful- what you liked, disliked, and what you generally enjoyed._

_Thanks_

_Sherlock x_

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I lay on my back, absorbing the heat from the sand.

As I was laying there, I could hear the shallow breathing of my men at my side. We were looking up.

However, even though it was a war zone, we abandoned our guns and uniform on those special times that there was no threats. None at all.

My boys and I liked nothing better than to lie on our backs and watch the swirling mass of black and blue, dotted all over with little stars as the moon hung, mystic and silvery, in the sky.

The best thing about it? It was always changing in between- we could get months in between these 'No threat' times. When we were told again, we would lay on our backs to see that the sky had changed again, if only slightly. It really was beautiful.

We wondered if our family, our friends and lovers would be looking up at the sky, thinking of us- just like we were at this very moment in time.

I looking up, and I was mesmerised by what I saw. Glittering starts, millions of them, were splodged like glitter in the sky. The moons majestic beauty was there, hanging silver in the English country sky; next to it (but still impossibly far away) there was a small octopus looking group of stars. A galaxy. Then, on the other side, was a small, blue-ish planet; Venus, if I wasn't mistaken. We lay for a few more hours, until the morning sun had started to scorch the sand around us.

I was relaxed, happy as I could be in a war zone.

However, that was shattered. Suddenly shots sounded and my men cried in horror.

I was sure I heard more gunshots in the distance.

My heart, oh God, it was pounding; could feel it deep inside his chest, in the palms of my hands, veins and my heavily booted feet.

'Get in, get in!' I bellowed to my men as they struggled to put their uniform on in a hurry and grab their guns. We all dived under cover, all equally terrified.

Jesus- dogs snarling, to close for comfort, made me start. I could hear them growling- I was terrified. However, this strange sense of calm also settled over the scene- whether it was the adrenaline or not I wasn't sure- but this wasn't happening to me. It couldn't- nothing like this ever happens to boring old Dr John Watson.

So I closed my eyes, certain that my boys would have my back, and allowed my other senses to explore the scene.

I could feel my first aid kit under my fingers. I was cotton, badly made, but we had to make do and mend. After all, it wasn't the actual appearance of the bag that saved the person- it was inside. It was full to the brim with bandages, tweezers, gauze, stitches, needles and syringes, full of midazolam. I personally don't think it is enough.

The smell of blood- that coppery, salty smell- was there, hovering ominously around the scene. It was there, simply taunting us, wanting me and my boys to crack. We all knew what was coming, I thought. But we won't die today.

The smoke from a small bomb nearby hung there, and it had the same affect. It was a smoke bomb of some sorts, and it clogged up out lungs, eyes streaming, making it had to breathe. However, when we did, the smoke burned our mouths and insides. Brutal bastards.

Another smell was slowly filling our noses, and the stench of something like rotten meat left out in the sun all day made us all gag, heave, but we were all too scared to make a sound.

We knew full well what the stench was. It was bodies of soldiers, both English and Afghan, our friends, family and lovers... lying there, limp as rag dolls, no respect whatsoever paid to them. We owe them a thousand thanks; however, now wasn't the time.

As a loud bang sounded, and the sound of unfriendly dogs snarling and barking sounded even closer, I wrenched open my eyes. I could feel beads of sweat under my helmet laugh as they slowly went down my cheek bones, and into the curvature of my jaw and hung there.

We- I mean, my boys and I- were kneeling behind trenches, guns and kits clasped to their chest.

I was trying to comfort the youngest man, Aaron Soans- well, boy really, he was only 18- next to him while trying to control myself at the same time. It was a difficult task.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to slay those monsters that had killed so many- ones I knew, ones that I didn't- and I wanted them to suffer. I wanted nothing more than to crawl and hide.

I swallowed the urges that were crashing upon me- it would one day raise its ugly head, I was sure- but at that moment, we had more pressing things to worry about. Like the devil dogs and the scorching summer heat.

The heat was unbearable; If I looked to my left, on the horizon I could see the heat waves rise up from the dusty plane, then evaporate into the dry morning air.

My mouth was dry, almost like it was full of cotton balls, but somewhat ironically I was sweating- I had never been so terrified in his life. I looked at my boys.

Aaron was praying, clasping a rosary in his balled up fist, muttering. He was visibly sweating, his eyes screwed up. I patted him on the shoulder, a little message that we were not going to die, not today.

'_And the father, the son and the holy spirit….'_

More shots, this time much closer. It frightened me- they somehow were even closer- and I looked wildly around, and saw my boys looking at me with wide, scared eyes.

I tried to stay calm, not let the whimper that was bubbling on my lips escape. I cleared my throat and leaned in closer.

'Don't shoot, not yet. Wait.'

As I cast an eye across my small team. They all looked so lost, so terrified, so…_ young_. Many of them were in their teens, or early twenties. Far too young, in my opinion. They shouldn't be here, fighting for their country, their lives; for they had hardly begun.

Mine was already part over- while I had had many wounds, stayed in hospital and been in sheer agony more times than I could count, I survived. But I was thirty-three now, long past the life expectancy of a solider on the front line.

I tried to calm myself (chanting_, it's only a nightmare_ over and over like a mantra), I went through the members of the team, trying to block out the carnage and the howling that was all around us.

There was Jamie Jones- the 24 year old who had a heart and nerves of steel. Under the immense pressure, he wasn't shaking at all- he looked perfectly calm, detached. I wonder if this was what I looked like now.

When he caught my blue eyes, he gave him a reassuring smile- whoa, such a role reversal. Shouldn't_ I_ be comforting _him? _I felt slightly bad, but a fatherly pride soon quenched that out as I cast another look around.

Then there was the tanned Aaron Soans, who was by far the youngest and most inexperienced there. Eighteen? Too young.

He was shaking, rocking slightly, the sweat matting in his ginger hair and running into his eyes. He didn't wipe it away, because I saw Aaron's finger was already on the trigger, ready to fire at advancing soldiers. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were darting about, but still he bravely crouched, trying to mirror the poker faces of the soldiers around him. My heart softened slightly.

Jason Downs had a neutral expression- I had to admit, I was impressed. The only thing that gave him away was the shaking of his hands, but in these situations, that was an acceptable thing to do- you're staring death in the face, for Christ sake!

Jason's eyes looked dead, expressionless- it chilled me to the bone, though I was sure I myself had worn that expression many-a time. However, it was strange seeing it- how can people, soldiers do that? Granted, it was probably because I was a doctor. I had to care for the wounded- who would if I didn't? Also, I had never seen myself while wearing that expression... but even so. It was chilling and frankly, frightening seeing a guy of Jason sheer size (he towered over me by more than a foot, much to the amusement of my other boys) and weight with that expression could make even the bravest of men cower.

And then there was Ameet- he was an afghan himself, and was muttering under his breath. I got most irritated with him- probably not because he was an afghan… scratch that, it partly was. _But_ it was also because he was such a bloody coward. He would rather stay here, and let his friends die than do the same for them. He wouldn't give thanks, or even a second glance as he stepped over the dead bodies of his friends. He was the type of person to laugh, then spit on them, laughing at them for being so stupid and trusting-

_'Al tahiat u lilah wa al salawat wa taibat,al salam-'_

_What?_

Ameet honestly looked ready to jump out of the trench and ready to run; however when more shots fired, he curled into the foetal position by our feet, whimpering softly.

I lost my temper. Seeing red, I grabbed him roughly and almost threw him into the side of the hard trench. He winced.

'Don't you fucking _dare,_' I snarled at him, shaking Ameet slightly. My boys looked at me in badly covered amazement. 'If you run, you will be shot- if not by them-' I angrily jerked his thumb in the direction of the opposition. 'Then by _us._ I will take great pleasure-' one of my boys cheered. '-because I don't like cowards, Ameet. Do you understand?'

He didn't nod, or give me any sign that he was listening. His expression was that of someone throughly bored. I pressed our noses together, and bellowed in his face.

_'DO YOU UNDERSTAND?'_

The man nodded, terrified, his dark eyes darting over the men that were glaring at him.

I was sure that Ameet hadn't understood all of the English, but by me throwing him into the side, grabbing the front of his uniform, and having all of my team glare at him, I was sure he got the message.

I tried to slow his breathing- my God, it sounded like I was panting. I cleared my throat, releasing Ameets uniform. He slid down the wall, and someone hit him with the butt of their gun. Ameet didn't have any wounds, he'd only been knocked out.

'It was for the best,' the soldier explained as he nudged Ameet onto his side so that if he vomited, he wouldn't choke. 'You did well- I would've beat him by now, what with all the shit he's been giving you.'

And the last on his team- probably the eldest, not including himself- was Finlay Elms. He looked perfectly fine now, his pale skin almost reflecting the sunlight, the wind tousling his dark curls which, in the morning sun, showed the red highlights. He grinned at me, the resettled himself into a more comfy position before taking another firm grip on his gun across his lap. He looked slightly bored, but happy and somewhat content as bullets and bombs went off all around us.

I was gazing at him fondly. He was a very nice lad, I must admit- and such a flirt. I was sure that's what he'd been doing ever since he arrived and clapped eyes on me. Not that I minded- I was a bit bi-sexual anyway, it wasn't anything new- but not here, not on the front line. Maybe when we went home- he only lived about 80 miles from me.

While I was off in thought, I was brought back into reality by a sickening thump. I had time to notice that Fin's pale features turned into a frown, then a look of terror.

Suddenly, the sun was blocked out and my heart froze. There was shouting, gasps of surprise as the enemy invaded- only they weren't all human. I heard my gun clatter to the floor, and I was so glad it didn't discharge.

The first thing I realised was that he had been bitten by two dogs- once in the leg as it jumped in the trench before being shot by Finlay, however that didn't even break the skin; It was the second devil dog that had my arm in his mouth, biting harder and harder with every second, the blood oozing around its jaws and adding a new red layer into its matted fur.

It was the eyes that did it- the mad, rabid eyes that rolled around in it's sockets as it ripped through the layers of muscle. It would haunt my nightmares for years to come.

It took me three seconds- way to long for a soldier- to react. With my right hand, I tried to fish out his gun which I had dropped in surprise.

Unfortunately, the dog wasn't letting go, and I allowed myself a pained moan as the dog tried to pull his arm out of its socket. The dog growled and started shaking its head, my arm still in its powerful jaws.

Suddenly a sparking pain, like nothing I ever have experienced, blazed up my arm. The dog had bitten into a nerve. My eyes smarted as I screamed incoherent words, orders probably, to my men.

As I regained the control I had lost, my other hand frantically patted the bottom of the trench. My gun- I _needed_ my gun. Almost crying in relief, and grasping the cool trigger, I detached as best I could- this horrifying situation wasn't happening to me or my team.

They were all too young to die- it wouldn't be fair. I was silently praying to anyone that was listening as he put more pressure on the trigger. There was an almighty bang, before the dog that had his arm collapsed, blood, shards of skull and brain decorating the sand behind it. That scene would decorate my nightmares too.

I jumped out of the trench and onto enemy lines, ignoring the fire that seemed to be consuming my arm. I saw my boys fighting for their lives, battling bravely against the many men that severely outnumbered them all. _They haven't a hope in hell, _the logical part of my brain said. _They're gonna die._

Federal dogs snarled and snapped- I was sure the opposition had trained them to try and kill any living thing within biting distance. Here, it wasn't an uncommon practise.

Suddenly, my blood ran cold as he heard a soldiers baritone scream. Turing to look, I saw a pack of the wild dogs pin down a solider, and started tearing at his chest and throat. I winced, as did the rest of my boys as the screaming continued, long and drawn out. It made me want to curl into a ball and cry.

It was too dangerous to help- I didn't have the strength to fight them all off, I couldn't fight one, and checking my gun, my heart sank; I didn't have the bullets either.

I closed his eyes for a second, concentrating as bullets whistled past my head. We all fell to the ground as a bomb rocked the Earth underneath us. I lay there, feeling sick thanks to my head hitting the ground, and I was dryly sobbing.

I suddenly realised, for the first time in my life, I was praying.

_Listen, God, Jesus, Allah whatever your name is, help. Do me a favour- I know I've not been the best follower ever, but can you help us out? Please? I know I'm gonna die, it's inevitable, but my boys are too young. Not like this- they have wives, some have children at home, they have family. I don't- take me instead, but let them live, please! I don't deserve to live- they do. Please, God, let them live. Please._

I opened my eyes in surprise. The shouting stopped, so had the gunshots. The snapping and snarling of the dogs was further away now- I almost laughed in relief; they'd been called off.

I waited a few minutes, listening to my ragged breathing as I tried not to cry out because of the pain in my arm. After a few minutes, when I thought it was safe, I hesitantly got up.

I inspected my arm- it was bleeding heavily, and the little bastard had bitten down near enough to the bone, the muscle had been completely shredded…. But I was alive.

But that joy was shorted lived, and soon it didn't matter… My heart stopped beating.

_That's_ why the shouting had stopped…The Afghans retreated, as there was no-one left to fight.

I quickly clocked the injuries to my men.

Jamie Jones was visibly dying. I rushed over and Jones gave a strangled laugh.

'Where?' said I, eyes roaming the surface of the soldiers uniform as I ripped open my bag. 'Tell me!'

Another strangled laugh escaped his lips, and as he looked up and I noticed that his lips and teeth were blood-stained. I tried to keep the expression neutral, but I felt his features twisting and hot tears cascade down my cheeks.

'Stomach. Nice- I'll be dead in the next-' he glanced at his watch- 'five minutes, I suppose. Being shot there is a nasty bugger, though you'll know that, Doctor- the blood mixes with the acid found in the stomach; only, when it mixes, it causes fatal toxermia and death. Fun, fun, fun.'

I didn't know how to reply- he was right. However, judging by the blood loss, Jamie would be dead sooner. I felt helpless- all could do was give his a numbing injection in his wrist. It got to work quite fast- as I sat on my heels and held Jamies hand, I could feel him as he slipped.

'Watson.' Jamie muttered through clenched teeth after a few minutes. 'You still here?'

'Yeah, I am. What is it?'

'Help them.' He moved his head weakly to the side and his eyes flickered open to look at my tanned face determinedly. 'I'm a gonner, but they might not be.'

And with that, Jamies' hand went limp, the grip loosened. My right hand was shaking as he felt for a pulse. Nothing.

Dead.

I gave a shaky breath and inhaled slowly. _Okay, calm down._ I urged myself. That's one gone- and there was so much blood spattered about it looked like a horror movie set- but there still was a chance, however slim, that I wasn't the only one alive.

Or I liked to think.

I listened out- the battlefield was eerily silent. No gunshots, or snarling dogs- not even the breathing of men- mine or Afghans- was to be heard.

I got up, Jamie's warm hand falling out of mine, and cast a nervous eye around.

Aaron Soans had a bullet wound to his chest- it looked like it was from a rather large and nasty looking gun. There was a hole- about one and a half inches big- right where his heart was. Scarlet blood was quickly soaking his camouflage and running in neat streams and pooling onto the sand. One of the streams had run down his arm, and was gathering in the hand in which he held the rosary. Wasn't fate artistic?

Dead.

I restrained from tugging at my already short hair. I dropped down into the trench, my gun still clasped to my chest.

Jason Down had his head pressed against the side, almost like he had fallen asleep-I was holding my breath as I shook his shoulder. I exhaled. He didn't stir, so gently turned his great mass over.

My breath caught in his throat, and I pushed down the tears that were threatening to spill from my eyes. I failed at that too.

Jason was lying there, a neat little wound- from a gun and bullet much smaller than the one that had killed Aaron- in the centre of his eyebrows. Blood ran down his nose and dripped onto his lap. He had been shot at close range, I observed, judging by the spatter patterns on the wall and the mess. His eyes were still wide, terrified, even though he was no longer breathing. A white film had started to form over his brilliant blue irises, making them look fake and glassy.

Dead.

Guilt churned in my stomach, and he briefly wondered if he was going to throw up… Aaron had a wife at home, Jason had a young daughter… and he had escaped, unharmed, while the bodies of his friends littered the world about him.

They were all dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead…. **Dead.**

Ameet was nowhere to be seen. I slid down the trench wall, and a dry sob wracked my body. I breathed slowly, and in and out- however, each I tried to breathe, every breath I took seemed to steal oxygen from me instead of the opposite. My heart was thudding so hard, even though the danger had passed. The nausea I had felt this morning had come back with a vengeance.

I hadn't had a panic attack in forever. Jesus, I hadn't remembered how terrifying they were. I was trying to cry and regulate my breathing at the same time.

But all that was coming out was animalistic sounds through her clenched teeth.

I allowed another large tear to roll down my cheek. Doctor John H. Watson had failed. I held my head in his hands, my palms digging into my eyes.

After a small cry, I wrapped up my arm. It hurt, I didn't use anything to numb it- every stabbing pain that shot up my arm I felt I had deserved. I had failed my men.

My heart stopped once again as I heard a groan. Then there was another- it sounded like a whimper. Someone was hurt- I clocked the bodies I had seen; Jason, Aaron, Jamie, Ameet… all that was left was Finlay Elms.

Fin!

I rolled out of the trench, grabbing my kit once again, and almost immediately saw him, laying there, hardly moving. How could I've not noticed him? How could I have been so blind?

My blood ran cold, my hope was shot down as I got closer, seeing the injuries Fin had sustained. There were bite marks- so, so many open wounds- dripping blood and soaking his uniform. They were on his arms, legs, face, neck...

'John?'

Finaly's voice cracked as he saw me. He blinked hard- not because he was crying, but because blood from a wound on his head had started to drip into his eyes. Fin was above emotions that showed weakness, but that barrier was cracking.

With some surprise, even in the midst of everything, Fin was tired- I saw he wanted nothing more than to sleep. The blood loss was making him sleepy, and even the pain that made him scream in agony no more than ten minutes ago had started to feel a bit fuzzy. There was a faint ringing in his ears, and I saw Fins lids drooping….

'Finlay Elms,' I snapped somewhere above him. 'Don't you fucking **_dare_**. You _have_ to stay awake, do you understand? You can't go to sleep.'

I quickly scrabbled for the kit. I started to clean the wounds, using a cloth and a golden coloured liquid- antiseptic. No matter how gentle I tried to be, it still stung the bloodied wounds, and Fin gasped in surprise.

'Sorry, sorry.'

'It hurts,' Fin whimpered, a tear falling out of his screwed up eyes and onto the sand. My heart broke. Without thinking, I gently started to stroke his curly hair.

'You're gonna be fine.' I said, gently resting Fin's head on his lap as I started to clean his cut lip and bite wound he had sustained on his scalp. Once I had finished, I stroked Fin's wild curls again, trying to soothe the young soldier. 'See? Help will be here in a minute. I promise, Fin- do you have any family?'

The brave solider shook his head from side to side.

'No.'

He suddenly sat up, and I recoiled in surprise. I was now crouched at Finlay's side, while the latters green eyes darted round the scene of carnage.

'Jesus-'

'He doesn't help. I tried.'

Fin smiled as he leant back on his hand. I could see where his shirt had been ripped; his whole body was bruised, and the wounds still stung, the muscles were aching- I just hadn't realised how many wounds there were. But the blood had started to clot...he was lucky to be alive.

Fin looked at me and took in my concern, which I was sure was radiating off of me in waves. Fin couldn't have been much younger than me- probably about thirty, at most.

The younger man shyly looked at me through his lashes.

Hand on a second- were we getting closer? We were- it wasn't the blood loss getting to my head. It wasn't an illusion.

Fin's flirting, the suggestive comments… they hadn't all been in passing. They had been genuine- he had couldn't express his feelings in any other way. I smiled and leaned in to the man on the floor.

However, I was disappointed to see his eyes flitted at the last moment, so that he was looking over my left shoulder. I noticed this and I sat back on his heels, sighing.

I frowned- Fin's eyes were suddenly wide, before he shouted.

'Look out!'

The next moment, Fin sat up and shoved me- but the angle of which he had meant that I was shoved backwards, catching my arm on the way there, as I found myself sprawled on my back on the golden yellow sand.

I realised in half a second that a bang had sounded moments before.

The next thing I realised, not a second later, was that my shoulder was burning. I heard an animal screaming, it sounded like it could come from one of those federal dogs, but I didn't care about that. I was on fire. Someone was_ burning_ me.

I hate to say it, but I was writing on the floor- I couldn't help it.

Agony consumed my shoulder like the furious fires of hell. Blinking back tears, and turning my head to the side to see, I saw to some surprise that I wasn't on fire.

With a jolt, I realised it wasn't an animal screaming- the sound was coming out of myself, the shriek rumbling in my chest, ripping through my throat and bubbling out of my taut lips.

The bullet had shattered the top part of my shoulder blade, nicked my collar bone and nerves, and exited the other side. I had been shot.

Gritting my teeth, tears smarting my eyes, threatening to overspill... I suddenly felt hazy, sick, woozy- oh, God, the bullet hadn't punctured an artery, had it? Or was this what dying felt like? My heartbeat quickened, which didn't help things; the blood pulsed out in time with my frantic heart.

My thoughts suddenly turned to the younger soldier who had saved me.

'Finlay?' My voice cracked.

No answer. With a pained grunt that took so much effort, I sat myself up.

'Fin. I-'

I dragged myself closer, no matter what excruciating pain I was in. My shoulder shoulder itself was almost screaming in agony… but that all went blank as my heart faltered in my chest.

I wasn't the only one who had been shot

A neat little wound, in the centre of Fin's eyebrows, half covered by his hair, was steadily bleeding. I dropped, and frantically felt for a pulse, for shallow breathing, for signs of life… but there were none.

The bullet had exited my body…. and gone straight into the head of my fellow solider, friend and saviour.

That was enough to make even the bravest of soldiers crack. I did, and felt my grip on reality slip, slide away from me like a rock slide.

'Fin!' I screamed, shaking the now vacant body, hoping for a reaction. '_Finlay! Finlay, **FINLAY!'**_


End file.
